L. Frank Baum - Oz 23

by Jack Pumpkinhead Of Oz

  “Well this,” began Peter, placing his hand on the red monster’s head, “this is Snif, an Iffin, I mean a Griffin.”

  “If Snifs an Iffin or a Griffin, I s’pose at us he’d soon be sniffin!” ventured Scraps, putting her finger in corner of her mouth.

  “If I should snif at folks so kind, I’d be most rude and unrefined.” replied the Iffin, with a wink at the Patchwork Girl, and this little exchange of verses relieved the strain that the whole company had been under.

  “Shall I tell the story, or will you?” whispered Jack Pumpkinhead, stepping closer to Peter. “You,” begged Peter, staring with round eyes at Mogodore and his little men.

  “They’ve been eating shrinking violets,” muttered the Iffin, rubbing his eyes with one paw and staring even harder than Peter.

  “No,it was the flagon,” explained Jack, “the forbidden flagon reduced them to midgets. But what became of Belfaygor’s beard!”

  “It disappeared into the magic sack,” grinned Belfaygor, coming into the room at that moment with the little Princess on his arm. “And glad I am that it’s gone. I’ll never wear another beard as long as I live.”

  “Beard,” put in the Soldier with the Green Whiskers eagerly, “did you have a beard as long and splendid as mine?”

  “Did I!” groaned the baron, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Ask Peter!” Taking another look at the Soldier with Green Whiskers, he shuddered and turned away. “You remind me of something I’m trying to forget,” said Belfaygor.

  Now all of this only served to increase the interest and curiosity of the already curious company. “Tell us! Tell us!” cried Dorothy impatiently. So, after Belfaygor and Shirley Sunshine had been properly introduced, Jack Pumpkinhead began the strange story of their journey from Scare City to Baffleburg and from Baffleburg to Swing City and his own transportation to the capitol. And while he spoke, the footmen and other servants moved quietly about, sweeping up broken glass, clearing away the table and removing all traces of the rude baron’s short reign in the palace. Guarded over by Toto and the Soldier with Green Whiskers, Mogodore and his men crouched miserably together, wondering what would become of them. Being merciless themselves, they expected no mercy from their captors. In small hoarse voices, they berated Mogodore for meddling with the forbidden flagon and bitterly denounced him for the terrible misfortune that had overtaken them. The rest of the midgets had been discovered and marched in from the garden and soon after word had been sent out through the city that the baron was captured, Unc Nunkie and his nephew Ojo arrived, driving the rest of the baron’s tiny warriors and horses before them, so that the entire army were now rounded up in the corner of the banquet hall. But so intent was the company upon Jack’s amazing story they scarcely heard the grumbling and complaining of the little men or the frightened neighs of the toy-size steeds.

  In the kitchen another banquet was soon under way, more and more candles were lighted and soon the castle began to reflect its old time cheer and friendliness. Little gasps and exclamations of astonishment punctuated Jack’s recital and he had to tell over and over how they had escaped from Baffleburg, how Snif had dwindled down when he ate the shrinking violets; how Belfaygor’s enchanted beard had helped them out of difficulty and how the mischievous pirate sack had swallowed three of the company, when they were needed most of all. Peter, Belfaygor and Snif were as interested as the others in Jack’s visit to the Red Jinn and in the advice that jolly wizard had given.

  “You remember the label on the forbidden flagon said that whoever broke the seal would bring a disaster upon his own head?” said Jack, turning to his comrades. Peter and the baron both nodded and Snif waved his tail to show he remembered, too.

  “Well,” smiled Jack, “the Red Jinn told me to remove my head before throwing the flagon and thus avoid the disaster.”

  “So that’s why you took off your pumpkin,” murmured Ozma, who had been puzzled by this strange action of Jack’s.

  “And he also told me that to release the prisoners from the pirate sack, I must turn it inside out and shake it three times,” went on Jack impressively. “So when Mogodore transported me suddenly to the palace, I did both of these things.”

  “You certainly did,” agreed the Scarecrow, shaking his finger at Jack Pumpkinhead, “and brought a horde of horrors about our ears.

  “I forgot about the Scares,” admitted Jack apologetically, “but they’re back where they belong, now, and everything has turned out for the best.”

  “It certainly has,” exclaimed Ozma, jumping up impulsively. “You and Peter, Snif and this brave baron have saved the Kingdom of Oz!” Jack was so overcome by these words that he lost his balance and sat down. But he was quickly pulled to his feet, and next instant the rafters rang with rousing cheers for the four valiant rescuers.

  “I wish my grandchildren could hear this,” sighed the Iffin, resting his chin on one claw.

  “Oh! Have you grandchildren?” asked Ozma, leaning forward politely.

  “No,” murmured the Iffin in an embarrassed voice, “but I may have. And they’ll be interested to hear about this.”

  “Take my advice and never have any grandchildren,” whispered the Scarecrow confidentially. “I’m a grandfather, and I know.” Before he had time to explain what he meant, two footmen came grandly forward to announce that dinner was ready, and no one, I assure you, was sorry for that.

  “I know what to do,” cried Dorothy as the green coated servitors began marching in with trays of savory meats and vegetables. “Let this be a wedding feast for Belfaygor and Shirley Sunshine.”

  “Hurray for a wedding feast,” shouted the Iffin. “Grr-rah!” forgetting he had recovered his growl, the red monster let out such a terrific roar that the Cowardly Lion swooned away and had to be revived with a jug of cider. But he soon recovered and a wedding feast it was and fit for a royal bride, I do assure you. Snif had eight geranium plants and an Easter lily and was happier than he had ever been in his whole fabulous existence. Never in the history of Oz was there a merrier banquet nor a happier crowd.

  Delighted to have Peter with them again, the Oz folk forgot their recent capture and had such a time as only those dear and delightful folk can have. Jack Pumpkinhead insisted upon being lit up for the celebration, so he was. Snif and Scraps kept the company in gales of laughter with their rollicking rhymes and when the wedding was solemnized by the highest judge in Ozma’s court, Belfaygor and his bride were toasted in tall tumblers of Ozade and simply showered with emeralds and quickly gathered gifts of every sort and description.

  “What did it feel like to disappear into that sack?” asked Trot, in a little pause following the wedding.

  “Well, once,” said Peter, fixing his eyes thoughtfully on the Iffin, “once I had a tooth pulled and took gas. It was like that, Trot. I just went out that’s all.” At once the others began to recall their own experiences with vanishings and disappearances and not till daybreak did any one think of retiring. Then the Baron of Baffleburg and his grumbling little army were locked up in the pantry for safety and Peter, snuggling down in his emerald studded bed, decided that this adventure was even more exciting than the last one.

  “I wish I could take Snif back to Philadelphia with me,” sighed the little boy as he finally dozed off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 21 Peter’s Return to Philadelphia

  NEXT day the festivities continued, and all day long Peter’s old chums and acquaintances were calling at the palace, while the celebrities outdid one another to make things pleasant for Belfaygor and his bride. At noon they rode off on the Saw Horse, for the baron was anxious to return to his castle. Peter bade the baron goodbye and promised to pay him a long visit on his next trip to Oz, to ride the horse Belfaygor agreed to keep for him and even wear the armor the baron had promised him as a reward for rescuing the Princess.

  Snif spent a happy morning in the royal stable with the famous beasts of Oz and they listened so politely to his experiences he decided to stay on indefinit
ely at the capitol. The pirate’s sack was locked up in the Wizard’s strong box and the magic dinner bell stored with the other treasures of the realm, for as Ozma remarked to Dorothy it would be mighty handy for picnics and unexpected visitors. The Fraid Cats and Statues in Scare City were released from their enchantment by the Wizard’s long distance magic and Peter and Snif, looking in the magic picture, had the satisfaction of watching them return to their various homes.

  “The only thing that still puzzles me,” sighed Ozma as they all sat cozily under the trees in the garden late that afternoon, “the only thing that puzzles me is that forbidden flagon. What strange spell could have reduced Mogodore and his followers to midgets?”

  “I think I can explain that,” answered Glinda setting her tea cup down on a small green table. “When Scraps flew to my castle yesterday and told of the capture of the Emerald City, I at once turned to my magic record book to discover something about this Baron of Baffleburg. You are all, I am sure, familiar with brownies?” Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin nodded sagely, and all the others quickly inclined their heads. “Well,” said Glinda with a wave toward the South, “in the Red Mountains of Oz there are large bands of reddies, who are quite similar to brownies, except for the color of their coats, which are red. To one of these tribes Mogodore and his men really belong. But Mogodore’s great grandfather, Jair, was a brave and determined little reddy, whose good deeds and brave actions greatly exceeded his size and strength. So, long ago, a neighboring wizard, whom Jair had done a great service, rewarded Jair by making him and his followers as large in size as they were in deeds and in action. But the enchantment only held so long as the mysterious red liquid remained in the forbidden flagon. Mogodore’s father and grandfather guarded the flagon well, but Mogodore knew nothing of its secret power nor of his own ancestry or origin. Being by nature, discontented and greedy he was always puzzling about the strange black flask and at the first opportunity he satisfied his curiosity.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing he did,” said Peter, looking thoughtfully at the little band of captives who were being marched up and down one of the garden paths by the Soldier with Green Whiskers. “Now the other barons will have a little peace.”

  “Let’s keep them for toys,” proposed Scraps, who was never weary of watching the tiny army. “No,” said Ozma, shaking her head at the Patchwork Girl, “that would be cruel.

  Has their city grown small too, Glinda?” The sorceress smiled and nodded.

  “Then I shall send them back to Baffleburg,” declared Ozma, “for they are now too small to harm anyone and there they will be safe and comfortable.” As everyone heartily approved of this plan, Ozma touched her magic belt, spoke the few words necessary, and away whisked the bad little baron and his band, to their tiny red city on the rocks.

  “Just the same, I wish we could have kept him,” sighed Scraps to Dorothy. “He looks so funny when he’s mad.”

  “Hush!” whispered Dorothy, for Peter had risen and in an embarrassed voice was asking Ozma to send him back to Philadelphia.

  “Still like baseball better than Oz?” rumbled Sir Hokus, shaking a teasing finger at Peter.

  “Well,” admitted the little boy, blushing a bit at the question, “the fellows sorta depend on me, Hokus, and then you know there’s my grandfather.”

  “Of course,” smiled Ozma, “of course there is. Goodbye, dear Peter, come back soon and as often as you will.”

  “Goodbye,” sobbed the Iffin, overcome at the thought of losing his chum. “If you were my own grandchild, I couldn’t love you any better.”

  “Goodbye!” called Jack Pumpkinhead and Scraps and all the others and before their gay voices had quite died away, Peter was standing in the dim library of his own house.

  “Oh grandfather,” cried Peter, “I’ve been to Oz again and flying is grand, grandfather!”

  “Then we must try it some time,” observed the old gentleman calmly, and saying nothing at all about Peter’s strange absence.

  “Oh, may we?” Peter dropped on the arm of the big chair. “May we, really?”

  “Well, why not?” demanded grandfather, glancing around the room belligerently and letting his specs fall the full length of the black cord. “Why not? ‘Tis a free country and flying’s no crime.”

  “Hurrah!” shouted Peter, bouncing off the chair arm and right that instant he decided that even in Oz there was no better chum nor braver adventurer than this grandfather of his so straightway he told him all that had happened in Baffleburg and other places-indeed all of this story that I have just told to you.

  The End